The Tale of two Sides
by The Lost Hetalian
Summary: Alfred and Arthur get into an argument, and Alfred decides to go off on his own for a little while, but he gets switched with America! I REALLY suck at summaries! Please give it a try - ' 2p!UsUk and UsUk and 2p!Usx1PUk and 1pUsx2p!Uk... jeezus... Blood, gore, other things...well, it includes 2p!Britain, so... yeah. Alfred 2p!Us, Arthur 2p!Uk, America 1p!Us, Britain 1p!Uk
1. Chapter 1

The air was still and warm, the sky black as coal. There was the small chatter of people in the houses, the crying of a baby having difficulty sleeping. Two men walked down the road, their footsteps hardly making a sound on the dry pavement.

If there was anyone else out and about, they would have stopped to stare at the two strange men. The taller one had tanned skin and brunette hair. He wore a black jacket and a dirty, white t-shirt underneath. But that wasn't the strange part. As he carried the bat over his shoulder, which had blood-encrusted nails sticking out of it, his red eyes glowed impatiently, despite the wild grin on his lips.

The shorter one was stranger, yet. Unlike the other, who was wearing dull, dark colors, this one wore a pink vest with a baby-blue tie. His skin was deathly pale, and his hair, blond with the tiniest hint of pink. His smile was even wilder and crazier than the other man, and his eyes were unique. His eyes were a burning sapphire with a prominent pink swirl that seemed to move enchantingly within the iris.

The shorter one's blue and pink eyes flickered from house to house as they passed them. "Well, well! Alfred… This isn't a very bad place. There are plenty of people to play with."

Alfred gave out a laugh. "I'll beat the shit out of the first one I see!"

The other one reached up and rested his hand on the other's shoulder and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Language, my little brother. A gentleman doesn't have such a tongue. Do I need to cut it off again?" He added, eyeing the taller one with a widened grin.

Alfred shook his head. "No, Arthur."

"Good." Arthur continued. "And we can't start playing yet. We need a place to live."

A few more feet forward revealed a dead-looking house. None of the lights were on, and the house was quiet. Not even Arthur's acute hearing could detect the breathing of sleeping bodies. A few of the windows were broken in, and the roof had a huge hole in it, as if there was once a fire.

Suddenly Arthur's head threw back and he exploded with laughter, genuine joy of finding a place to live in this new dimension. "This is where we will be staying from now on. Come, Alfred. We must make due." He ran up the doorsteps to open the door. Despite the fact the door was nailed shut to keep people out, Arthur hardly noticed as the door creaked open with little effort.

He began to list things they needed to do to the tune of his favorite song, a song Alfred and him made up during World War I. "_We will need to fix the place up_~ _Paint the walls, replace the windows_~ _swap the floors, Mess with wires~ For power, and connect the gas_~" He stopped his singing to look up at his younger brother. "Could you do that for me, chap?"

Alfred put down his bat. "I ain't gonna do shit until I get a little fucking sleep."

Arthur's wild grin faded for a moment. "Little brother… I don't like it much when you curse. Like I said, a gentleman doesn't have that sort of tongue." His intense blue-and-pink eyes met up with Alfred's ruby ones. "If you don't at least find us a bed to sleep in tonight, I'm sure neither of us will get some sleep. And you know how we get when we're cranky."

Alfred's eyes flickered away from the shorter man's, and he felt pained by bad memories, but all at the same time, his chest buzzed happily with them, and he smiled. "First thing, I'm not a fucking Cockney. And second thing, I think we will be fine on the floor tonight." He pulled off the pack on his back and began to pull out the contents, which was just a blanket and spare clothes.

An evil smile grew on Arthur's face, and when Alfred saw this, he returned the same look. Tomorrow will be hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred gave out a loud cry as there was a loud crack and pain split his head. Arthur had just taken Alfred's bat in his thin hands and swung it at the back of his head. Alfred lay on the ground with a huge gash in the back of his head, and after moaning in pain for a few seconds, he began to giggle hysterically.

After swinging the bat at his little brother a few more times, Arthur threw the weapon aside. "Don't tell me to stop singing my song. I enjoy it very much."

"_The worms crawl in, he worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle in your snout, they eat our eyes, they eat your nose, and they eat the jelly between your toes! _It's stuck in my head and it's fucking annoying!" Alfred hissed from his position on the floor.

"And don't forget who helped me make that song!" Arthur's wild grin grew more insanely.

"That was nearly one-hundred fucking years ago! Can't you just forget that shit?" Alfred tried to pick himself off the ground, but his arms were weak due to the broken bones. He sighed. "Just kill me already, I'm tired of waiting."

"Apologize first." Arthur replied simply.

"I'm sorry…" Alfred growled. "That you're such a prick!"

Arthur licked his dry lips and pulled out a knife. "Close enough, chum. I will make you suffer, just how you like it."

As the cold steel of the knife pressed against his throat, Alfred couldn't help but laugh. The pain was great, yes, and he couldn't get enough!

Arthur began to slowly rip open Alfred's throat, gently singing his little song into his brother's ear. "_Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by, for you may be the next one to die~ They wrap you up in a big white sheet, from your head down to your feet~_"

Alfred gave the best irritated hiss he could make with an opened throat. Blood began to pour into his mouth. He hated the metallic taste of the stuff, but his brother obviously thought differently as he scooped some of it from the side of his mouth and licked it off his finger.

"You're a sick bastard, you know that?" Alfred choked.

Arthur only gave him a sadistic smile and sat down, watching his brother's body convulse. It had taken the body exactly thirty minutes to stop moving, but Arthur could still hear the faint beating of the heart. He grabbed Alfred and dragged him into what once was the kitchen. He stripped off his clothes and lay him on his back, pulling out a marker and carefully marking the body where he was going to cut.

Slowly he opened the body and watched, with an excited glint in his eyes, the heart of his favorite victim beat slowly and steadily. It was much louder now that it was exposed, and it sounded so soothing… and it slowly got quieter.

Arthur could have fallen asleep to the sound of the exposed heart, but he couldn't. He had to act fast as the body would quickly begin to rot without the flow of antibodies in his veins. He pulled out air-tight plastic bags from the pack and a knife from the drawer and began to cut out his innards. He quickly squeezed out the contents of the intestines and put them in the bags, and cut out his liver, which he chopped up into cubes and put them in a separate bag. He cut out the stomach and cut it in half, placing each half at the different end of the table, and began to strip the muscle away from his limbs.

Alfred's body barely struggled as he did all of this, and nothing more than a pained moan escaped his mouth.

As he butchered the body of his younger brother, he hummed to the tune of his favorite song. "_They put you in a big black box, and cover you up with dirt and rocks~ All goes well for about a week, then your coffin begins to leak~_"

And finally to end his brother's suffering, he reached up to Alfred's chest and sliced out his heart, which beat softly in his hands. He smiled as he felt the warm blood gush between his fingers, and he couldn't help but give the organ a small squeeze. "How lovely~" He said out loud. He brought the organ up to his mouth and gave it a bloody kiss. As soon as his lips touched the heart, the soothing sound of the beating stopped, and he licked the sweet blood from his face. "That was rather amusing, brother. But next time, I'd like to hear you scream some more."

The last thing he had to do was squeeze the contents out of the stomach into a plastic bag, and he folded the hollowed organ over itself and slid it nicely into another bag. It was hard to believe that such a big man could fit into six plastic bags. But at the same time, most of his height did come from his legs, and he was also quite broad –shouldered.

He tossed the remaining bit of the body along the wall and placed the bags all over the bloody counter. "See you tomorrow, chap! I have some cupcakes to make~"


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning- it was about four o'clock am- Alfred walked into the front door, butt-naked. "Where the hell are my clothes?" He asked as soon as the door opened and saw Arthur sitting in an armchair, enjoying a cupcake and a glass of what he guessed was tea.

Arthur looked up at Alfred and smiled. "Hello, there! Where have you been?"

"I need my fucking clothes!" Alfred growled without a moment's hesitation.

"They're in the kitchen~" Arthur practically sang, making Alfred grimace with annoyance.

Alfred looked at the cupcake in his hand and scowled harder. "I don't enjoy being your livestock."

"Oh, please calm down!" Arthur grinned. "It was only this once. Soon I won't need your body anymore~ don't you have some clothes to get on?"

Alfred gave an annoyed grunt and headed into the kitchen to find his clothes in a bloody wad on the floor, right next to his previous body, opened up with the organs cut out, the only visible organs left were the lungs which were dry and shriveled. He rolled his eyes as he climbed into his clothes. Why did Arthur have to eat his remains? It was sickening, just the thought, that every time he died, his guts were ground up and put into his cupcakes, and each morning he would return home to find his older brother snacking on them. Why couldn't he just bury his body for once, still intact?

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose to calm himself down. There was no need to get angry again. He would only be killed and then eaten again.

He turned to leave the kitchen, and when Arthur looked at him, there was an inquisitive tilt to his head. "Where do you go when you die?"

Alfred shook his head. "It's none of your damn business! You'll find out whenever you die." He walked past Arthur and picked his bat off the ground, which was encrusted with his own blood, and opened the door. "I'm going out for a little bit."

"Oh, please come back soon!" Arthur nearly purred. "I worry about you when you're all alone!"

Ignoring Arthur's words, he slammed the door shut and headed off the porch.

Arthur's grin faded, and he slumped down in his chair. Why was Alfred so moody when he was alive? He enjoyed killing the man. As he lay motionless on the floor, it was the only time he ever looked at peace. It was the only time he wasn't huffing with anger or cursing. He seemed so content. It was depressing to see his younger brother in such a frustrated state, and he simply wanted him to rest peacefully, at least for a night.

He slowly began to lick the frosting off the cupcake deep in thought, tasting the liver within it. Despite the wild smile he wore as he slit his brother's throat last night, it was a struggle. He used his smile to keep himself from looking weak, and he sang the song to numb his mind to what was really happening. He enjoyed killing others, it gave him great pleasure, but to kill the one he raised like a son was a hard task nonetheless, no matter how mindless he was, and no matter what the cause.

And the part where he sits back and watches Alfred suffer? Alfred enjoyed pain more than anything. As hard as it was to watch him suffer, Arthur knew he preferred the struggle between life and death. It was just like falling in and out of sleep to him, his eyelids growing heavy and his body growing limp. It was comforting to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred wandered the streets as the sky steadily brightened. He carried his bat over his shoulder, and his ruby eyes flickered around a bit. _There must be someone I could beat the shit out of._ He thought. He was angry, and he needed to beat someone to take out the anger. Talking would only make him angrier, as he has experienced just before being killed and eaten again in an endless cycle. He loved his brother very much, and the pain he was put through was very amusing, but it disturbed him to see his own brother devouring his organs.

As the sun began to rise over the horizon, more people came out in the streets. Alfred slowly began to realize that he was wondering around a small neighborhood surrounded by huge buildings.

_I'm in a city_. Alfred thought with a grin. _That means lots of people to beat. And the crime should be high. _Finding an experienced fighter was going to be easy. Alfred chuckled at the thought of the struggle someone would put up and at the pain he would feel as a bullet or knife pierced his skin.

After walking for about ten minutes, he made it to the edge of the tall buildings. He slid into one of the alley ways. As the sun slowly rose over the buildings, he sat against the wall and picked the blood off the nails in his bat. A small group of men, five to be exact, walked into the alley and talked loudly and laughed. The way they stumbled around was odd, and Alfred guessed they were heavily intoxicated.

He watched and grinned wildly as they stumbled closer, not quite aware of his existence yet. By the time one of them saw him, they were only a few feet away.

"H-hey! What the hell is y-you doing here?" One of them stuttered. "This is m-my place! I fixed it up real good f-for my buddies and me!"

Alfred laughed. If Arthur had been there, that man would have had an earful, a lecture for all the grammar mistakes in his words. He sat in his spot, grinning defiantly at the drunken men. _This'll be very fun! _He stood up, picking up his bat. He laughed loudly as the five men took out pocket knives. Those small blades would do nothing against a three foot bat with nails embedded in it.

"Hey, m-man!" Another one muttered. "We don't want any trouble. We just got surprised to see someone in our hang out!" This one seemed to be the most sober of the men, as he stumbled around the least.

"Oh, but there are five of you, and one of me. You pulled out your knives when you could've run." Alfred replied slyly. "I believe you are the ones looking for trouble." He lifted the bat and swung it at the five men. They staggered back, just out of reach, and another one came in with the knife, jabbing Alfred in the arm. When the blade came out, blood dripped off of it, and Alfred's eyes flashed at the sight. The pain… it was wonderful!

Despite the fact that he wasn't the drunken one, Alfred was slower than the other men due to the heavy bat. He lifted the weapon and swung it again. It connected to one of the men's shoulders, and he was flung to the side of the alley, the deep gash oozing with blood.

He was about to swing again as one of the other men moved in to stab him. Suddenly there were arms wrapping around his body. He was pressed against the man and struggled. If his arms weren't pinned to his sides, Alfred would have easily knocked the man aside, but despite the scent of alcohol on his breath, the man still had the sense to hold his arms together and take the weapon away. Now Alfred's skin began to rip as the blade of a knife stabbed into his chest, missing his heart and lungs by some miraculous feat.

Alfred's grin only grew wilder at the new pain. It felt great! As his blood pulsed through his veins and out each hole made in his body, the sudden urge to give out a cry overtook him, and a loud sound escaped his lips.

The stabbing stopped for a moment, and the man's cold eyes looked into his. He pressed the knife against Alfred's neck. "Say you're sorry, and we'll let you-"

_Bang!_ There was a shot in the distance, and suddenly the man was on the ground, moaning in pain, blood streaming from his shoulder.

Alfred was let loose, and the drunken men ran away, the one with the deep shoulder-gash being carried away over another man's shoulders.

Alfred looked over at where the gun-shot came from, and saw a familiarly shaped figure standing at the other end of the alley.


	5. Chapter 5

A man put the gun back inside his jacket and cautiously moved down the alley. He happened to be walking by when he heard yelling, and just turned his head to see a bloodied man with a knife being held to his throat! The alley's scent was thick with alcohol. He could only imagine the attackers had been too drunk to have enough sense to at least wait until dark to start trouble, not that he wanted trouble at all!

He was startled at what he saw when he got close to the man in the alley. No, it was not his survival of the countless holes in his skin, despite how strange it was. It was the way the stranger looked. The two looked at each other for a minute, taking each other's image in. The other man looked just like him! The hair was darker than his, but the style was exactly the same, it even had that pesky cowlick on the top! His skin was also a bit darker, but nothing more than a few hours more in the sun would make their skin the same color. The other man was also a bit more fit, but their shoulder's were broad all the same. His eyes were also a strange color, but he couldn't tell if they were red or blue. They seemed to shift in the different angles of the light. The clothes were also the exact same. The stranger's bomber jacket was a bit darker than his own, and there was a badge with a red star pinned to his chest instead of a badge with a white star. His clothes were a bit bloodied, even in areas that weren't wounded, but the man didn't think too much of it.

All he knew was that this man was too much like himself. He was a shady character, and he wondered if it was a good idea to frighten off the other men. Trying not to swallow nervously, he spoke. "Who are you?"

The stranger stared a little longer, looking just as confused as him. "Who the fuck are _you_?"

The man furrowed a brow at the rudeness of the stranger, but he wasn't going to hark at him for the unnecessary curse word. He was also rude at times, he admitted. "I am named America."

The stranger looked him up and down, moving forward to give him a hard poke in the shoulder to make sure he was real. "You look just like me! What the hell are you?"

America frowned. This man wasn't very kind at all! But he stayed calm. Nothing good came out of violence. He learned that the hard way. "I… can't really tell you that. What's your name?"

America could feel frustration pulsing from this man at his avoidance of the question, but his shoulders slackened. "I am Alfred."

America couldn't help but smirk. This man gave America an odd feeling, like he didn't belong there, like he wasn't supposed to exist in this world. It was certainly a mysterious sense. He expected something more dignified… something with more meaning, like Anakin, or something foreign, like Akurai. Japanese-y names are so cool…

Meanwhile - America nearly face-palmed himself - Alfred was bleeding through multiple holes in his chest. Why did he get so distracted when thinking of cool names for things? "Hmm… do you need any help? Those holes look like they hurt really bad."

Alfred looked down at his blood-covered shirt and, to America's disgust, began to run his fingers through the holes. His face twisted in pain, but a creepy smile grew on his face, as if he enjoyed the sting. "I suppose these won't heal by themselves."

_No, they won't…_ America almost replied bitterly, but he held it back. "I know someone who could fix you up. His name is Britain. Do you need any help getting there?"

"Just give me directions." Alfred said. "I'm good at remembering those."

America thought that he at least should show Alfred the way home, but he was busy. And Alfred didn't seem to be in too much pain, despite the blood dripping from his wounds. "Umm… Well, you go East until you get to Gibson Avenue, then you take a left. It is the fourth house down, with a brick wall in the front." America stripped off his jacket and gave it to Alfred. "You should put this on so you don't attract too much attention."

Alfred grimaced, America guessed, at the idea of wearing a stranger's clothes, but he slowly took off his own bloody jacket and put on the cleaner one, zipping it shut. "I'll be on my way, then…" He muttered.

America's chest grew heavy as the conversation went on without any sign of gratitude. America had just saved his life and offered him a place to heal, but not even the slightest feeling of appreciation came off this guy.

"Listen…" Alfred mumbled, just loud enough for America to hear. "I also have someone back at home who will probably worry about me. His name is Arthur. Could you at least tell him I'll be back soon?"

"Sure!" America smiled. "Where is he at?"

Alfred's eyes dulled as he looked at America's smile. There was something about him that wasn't too thrilled about his happiness and eagerness to help. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "It's on Pearl Street, the big, burnt house. You won't miss it."

"Ok. Thanks, dude!" America smiled wider, and waved. _A burnt house? _"We best be on our ways, then."

Alfred pushed his way past him, failing to meet his eyes, and shoving his own coat in America's hands. America watched him leave the alley, hoping he would turn and say 'Thank you' but he walked away, across the road, without even slowing down. Alfred's heart sank as he watched him leave. He had his coat, his home, his help… and he didn't even think to say thanks.

America wondered if it was a good idea to go to this man named Arthur and tell him about Alfred. But America couldn't get himself to leave Arthur oblivious to this morning's happenings, to worry about his friend's life.

So he walked down the other end of the alley and into a large neighborhood with small houses. He wasn't so sure where Pearl Street was, he hardly came to this part of town, but he had just come here last summer to witness the burning of a house. That was the place he guessed Alfred was talking about. He walked for about 10 minutes before seeing a darkened house. He walked up the steps and knocked on the door. There was an awkward moment of silence before feet began to move across the room and opened the door.

America was surprised to see the man in front of him. What was happening today? He looked _just like Britain_! The only differences were his hair, which had a pink hint to it, his eyes, which were blue with an unusual pink ring around the iris, and he wore colors Arthur wouldn't even be caught dead wearing: pink and baby-blue. Okay, they looked nothing alike… but the body type, the hair style, and his height was exactly like Britain's. He even had the large eyebrows like him!

The man's eyes lightened when he opened the door. "Alfred! Welcome back home~"

America waved his hand, not really knowing what to say due to this mind-boggling sight. "Uh… um… I-I'm not-"

"Please come in! Would you like some tea, old chap?" The man grinned.

"T-tea?" America felt strange. Despite the fact he looked just like Britain, Arthur's personality was exactly the opposite: Arthur was being _kind _to him. Britain wouldn't offer America any tea in a hundred years, already knowing how much he hated the stuff, and just disliking America.

"Why, of course!" Arthur beckoned him in. "I want to talk to you."

America was here only to tell Arthur about Alfred, not to have a cup of tea and a conversation! He swallowed nervously and walked in. "Um, okay, but I-"

Arthur's grin disappeared as the door closed behind America. "Where's your bat? You don't go anywhere without it! And why aren't you wearing your jacket? I made it just for you!" He looked up at America, truly hurt.

America sighed. "You see, that's the thing-"

"Well? Put it back on!" Arthur said, his blue and pink eyes looking deeper into America's light blue ones.

_Well… okay…maybe he'll see that they are covered in blood and ask about that…hopefully._ America slipped the darker jacket on, the tightness of it feeling uncomfortable. "There you go."

Arthur smiled despite the fact it was covered in blood. "Good! Now follow me, there is something I would like to discus." He walked off to the kitchen.

America shrugged his shoulders and moved forward. Why was it so hard to realize he wasn't Alfred? Sure, they're body types were identical, and so were the hair styles, and even their clothes! But their colors were much different. When he walked into the kitchen, he saw Arthur already at the table, pouring a small cup of tea.

When America sat down at the table, Arthur pushed the cup toward him before pouring another cup for himself. He looked down at the contents of the cup. The tea was much different than what Britain made. It was a thick red, and the smell that came from it was unusually sweet.

"Now, Alfred… I've been thinking a lot lately…" Arthur began after tasting his tea. "And I am sorry for a few things that have happened."

America tilted his head. "Like what?"

Arthur looked at him. "You don't remember last night?"

America shyly looked back into the tea cup. _Last night? What… what kind of relationship did these guys have?_ To keep himself from looking too nervous, he picked up the tea cup and gave the liquid a small sip, even though he wasn't a fan of tea. He was surprised by the taste. This tea was actually sweet, but without the grittiness of sugar, and it was just thick enough to coat his throat and keep it warm. There was also a small metallic taste in the liquid, but for some reason, America enjoyed it. "Oh, that? I'm over that."

"But I am you're older brother! Don't you demand a little bit more respect from me? You are getting older…" Arthur looked away from America "I apologize, Alfred."

_Last night? Older brother? Am I going to have to tell someone about this?_ Nervously, America looked around the room, and his eyes rested on some brightly-colored objects on the counter. His eyes widened as he took in the beautiful sight. Cupcakes! America couldn't help but gawk at them like a child. Did Arthur make them himself? Arthur was the exact opposite of Britain, so… did that make him a good cook?

Arthur looked at him with a furrowed brow, as if he didn't know what to think. "Um… are you feeling well?"

America looked at him. "Of course I am! Could I have a cupcake?"

Arthur looked at him oddly. Did he say something wrong? There was a long moment of silence. "Well… sure. Go ahead."

"Thank you." America tried not to look too eager, as Alfred didn't seem to be the hyper type. He walked over and snatched one up and sat back down with it. He licked a little frosting from the top. It tasted odd, but it was just different. Not bad at all. It had some sort of a… meaty taste to it, but America knew that English desserts often included meat, so it wasn't _that_ strange. And it tasted unusually sweet, even sweeter than the cupcakes he would get from a store.

"How is it?" Arthur asked.

After tasting the bottom half of the cupcake, he ran his tongue through his mouth to taste the sweetness and trying to identify the meat-taste within it, finding an almond-y taste to it as well. It was so unique! "It tastes great! What did you put in it?"

Arthur's grin grew, his eyes flashed and seemed to swirl, and his hands folded. "You should know what is in it, Alfred."

America mentally pouted. _Aww… I really want to know… _"Oh, yeah, that! You know how to please me!"

Arthur sipped his tea again. "Are we even, then?"

"Um… sure?" America still had no idea what the issue between Arthur and Alfred was, and he was curious to find out.

Arthur stood up and headed out of the room. "Once you are finished, we have some work to do. Tell me when you are done so we could get started."


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred knocked on the door, growing more anxious as time went by. He was beginning to bleed through the jacket America had given him, and the streets were beginning to get crowded.

The door opened, and Alfred was looking into the eyes of someone who looked just like Arthur, except with a few color changes. This man's eyes were emerald green, he wore more earthy colors, and his hair lacked that unusual hint of pink.

Instead of a wild grin, like Arthur would have, Alfred was greeted by a scowl from… Britain, was it?

"America, you dummy! You didn't bring anything back!" The man hissed. "Where is the rhubarb? The eggs? You failed to even bring hamburger meat for yourself!"

Alfred's jaw dropped. He wasn't expecting such a harsh nature from this man. While Arthur did kill him on multiple occasions, he wasn't very… _mean_, for a lack of words.

After a few moments, Britain's green eyes flickered to the red splotches on his chest. "What the bloody hell happened? Come in, quick!"

To Alfred's annoyance, he found himself being dragged in by the arm, and the jacket America had given him was suddenly taken off.

Britain's eyes widened in horror as he examined the knife-marks in his chest. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

"I-I was attacked!" Alfred stammered. What was he supposed to do? This man's sudden kindness and worry startled him, and he had no idea how to react. The only time Arthur was kind to him was when he was dying.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the obvious answer. "Lay down. I'll be in with rags and medicine for you."

Alfred walked into what he guessed was America's bedroom, and lay on the bed that was under a red and white striped flag with white stars in a blue area in the corner. After laying in the bed for a few minutes, getting comfortable in the sheets, Britain walked in with handfuls of cloth and syringes.

Alfred watched cautiously as Britain placed the syringes on the table next to him, and he couldn't help but shiver. He had bad memories of them… he remembered the way his body would numb and his limbs would grow limp as Arthur injected the liquid into his spine. Once his limbs were completely disabled, Arthur would cut into Alfred and begin pulling out his organs. Alfred clenched his teeth at the memories. The act was painful, and he enjoyed the pain more than anything, but it was different when you were forced to watch your own innards get ripped out.

Britain pulled the shirt off of Alfred and then placed the cloths on the holes in his chest and began to mop up the blood. "I'm sorry this happened to you…" Britain muttered. Water began to drip from his eyes. "Those wankers will pay." Alfred shivered as Britain's hand wandered over to the syringe. "This'll ease the pain, please hold still."

Alfred's heart pumped rapidly as the syringe eased closer with the liquid inside glistening. With a sudden cry, he stretched his arm out and stopped Britain. "Stop! Don't do it. The pain… it's tolerable."

The man's deep green eye's widened in confusion and horror. "America? Your chest has been _ripped open!_ Are you sure you could take the pain?"

Alfred nodded slowly, eyeing the liquid that beaded at the end of the needle. "I can take the pain. It's good."

Britain slowly set the syringe down with a furrowed brow and lifted a cloth. He dipped the cloth into a bowl of strong-smelling liquid that left Alfred feeling dizzy. "This cloth is soaked in alcohol." Britain warned. "I am going to put this on your wounds, and it _will _hurt like mad. Are you sure you don't want the serum?"

Alfred gave Britain a fast nod.


	7. Chapter 7

_ This _can't _be America! _Britain thought gravely as he pressed the soaked cloth onto the man's chest. The man arched his back and gave a loud cry, but his lips twisted in a wild grin. Sure, America still wouldn't want the serum, as it would need to be obtained through pain. But instead of stopping Britain and saying that he likes pain, which he _didn't_, he would have jumped out of the bed and run away, and Britain would have to chase him down until he ran out of breath.

Still, it was hard to watch this strange man cry in pain, especially since he looked so much like America. Just about every aspect of the man was just like his younger brother, aside from color differences and the fact he was just a little more fit.

Britain shook his head. _I will get this stranger cleaned up and patched, and then I'll ask him some questions. I can't just leave a man to suffer pain like this, not even a stranger._


	8. Chapter 8

_That man is not Alfred._Arthur thought with a grin. He knew this when delight seemed to wash over his eyes the moment the stranger saw the cupcakes, which were - had he actually been Alfred - made of his own organs. Yes, he was worried about his younger brother, but not too much. He was, after all, immortal.

It was strange that this new person looked so much like Alfred. The only differences between the two were the colors, and, well… – Arthur thought with a wider grin – this one was not quite as fit.

"I am such a bad man~" Arthur hissed to himself, his body beginning to tingle. He began to hum the tune to his little song. _A big green worm with rolling eyes crawls in your stomach and out your eye~ Your stomach turns a slimy green, and pus pours out like whipping cream~ You'll spread it on a slice of bread, and this is what you eat when your dead~_

"Alright, what did you need?" Stranger asked as he walked out of the kitchen.

Arthur turned to him. "You're a strong man, correct?"

"Yeah!" Stranger smiled and puffed out his chest proudly. "What do you need?"

"There is a hole in the ceiling upstairs." Arthur reported. "I need you to go get some supplies and fix it. I am much weaker than you are, you know. I won't be able to do it myself."

The man's eyes brightened. "I can help! Do we have any wood?"

"We do." Arthur replied. "But the thing is we don't have any tools. Could you run over to the store and get some, please?"

"I have to go to the store?" Stranger frowned. "Couldn't you do that? If you do that, you would at least feel you actually did something to fix this place up, even if you didn't do much."

"Ah…" Arthur gave him a sweet smile. "But if you run to the store, I'll have more cupcakes done by the time you come back~"

"Really?" Stranger's eyes brightened childishly at the mention of the desserts, and then he seemed to catch himself acting in that manner, his expression becoming dull once more. "Okay, deal then."

"Thank you, chap!" Arthur smiled up at him as he watched the man walk out the door. He waved to him goodbye and closed the door. _He's so childlike~ He's going to be fun to play with~_

He walked into the kitchen to work a little more when he noticed something terribly wrong. _D-Did Stranger not like them?_ He scowled at the half-eaten cupcake on the table. _Am I not a good enough cook?_ He felt his hands clench into fists. _Does he not realize all the trouble I went through to make those?_ He had to connect the wires himself! He even turned the gas on! It would be nice if he had someone else to enjoy the cupcakes with…


	9. Chapter 9

America walked down the road, headed to the tool store. His head hung and he gripped at his chest as a terrible feeling pulsed inside him. He loved the cupcakes, they were amazing! But the moment he went for a second one, he suddenly had the feeling he had to puke… a bad ingredient, he assumed. Old eggs, probably.

He walked into the store, and right away, he saw an electric screwdriver, and he picked it up, smiling. A power tool! He was eager to use it. His work would go by much faster with the use of it. For some reason, Britain didn't trust him with power tools. _But why?_

He shook his head and smiled. _I should visit him, and see if Alfred is doing good._ He picked up a saw and a few screws and headed to the front of the store. He was glad that he was finally given the chance to take off Alfred's coat now that he was away from Arthur - the tightness was growing more and more uncomfortable, and he was beginning to feel hot now that it was noon - and now that he was standing in front of the cashier, he was thankful that he didn't scream at the amount of blood on it and bring attention to him.

The moment he set the items on the counter, he suddenly bolted to the back of the store to spew into the toilet. Why was he feeling so ill? It was like there was some sort of poison in the cupcakes or something! Why would there be any poison in them, though? Was Arthur trying to poison him? Was he trying to poison Alfred? Did he misread an ingredient? Why was he feeling so horrible? America stood there for a few more minutes, feeling relieved from the disturbed acid in his stomach. _At least I don't feel so sick, now…_

He finished his business at the store, and was headed back to Arthur's, when he remembered Alfred. _I really need to make sure he's okay…_ _as soon as I take this stuff back_. Alfred looked like a sharp person and could've easily made it to Britain's house with the instruction America had given him. And he also seemed to be taking the large knife-cuts in him pretty well, for some reason. He couldn't be in too much trouble.

He came through the door, and there was a warm scent, and he walked into the kitchen. "Arthur? I'm back!"

"Oh! Alfred~" Arthur turned around, smiling widely like usual. "You're back!"

America nodded and put the items onto the table and looked at the counter. There was even more cupcakes, and they smelt great! But his stomach lurched as the memory of its earlier pain came back, and he stepped away. "I brought tools to fix the roof with."

"Very good, chap!" Arthur smiled again and picked a cupcake up and handed it to America. "It'll give you energy."

America refused it, pushing Arthur's hand away. "Sorry, maybe later."

Arthur looked hurt. "Why not now? I made it for you."

"Well… I'm not…" America sighed. Why was this so hard? "The last ones didn't agree with me too much. Did you check the eggs? Maybe they went bad. No offence, but… I sorta puked."

Arthur shook his head, grinning. "It's getting chilly out. You just caught a sickness. I'll tend to it once the roof is fixed. Like I said, I'm too weak to fix it myself."

America gave in to the frosted treat. _But only one._ He told himself. _I really doubt that I could really feel so ill if it was only the breeze._


	10. Chapter 10

Britain looked at the strange man that looked so much like America. He was sleeping now. The pain and blood lost had taken a lot out of him. At least now the wounds were no longer bleeding. Still, it was strange how he could survive such severe injuries.

He kneeled beside the bed and silently whispered a spell, a spell of healing, as he lightly touched the man's chest.

Britain stood up and walked into the kitchen. He might as well prepare some lunch for the stranger. His fists tightened as he thought of all the times his _wonderful_ cooking was turned down. Hopefully Stranger didn't mind it. He baked some scones and poured a glass of water for Stranger. He would have made something more comforting, like fish and chips, but America wasn't back from the store yet. _Why isn't he back yet, anyway?_

When he walked into the room again, he found Stranger sitting up in the bed, glaring at the plate of food. "What is that?"

A fire burned inside Britain for a moment at the unnecessary comment, but he allowed himself to calm down. Perhaps he actually _didn't_ know what a scone was? He set the plate on the bedside table. "I made some scones and poured water for you. Are you hungry?"

Stranger turned to look at the plate again, then at the water. "What's in there?"

Britain furrowed a brow and handed the glass to him as he repeated his last statement. "Its water… are you thirsty?"

Stranger slowly took the cup and peeked inside of it, sniffing at it curiously. "What else is in there?"

Britain had _no_ idea what he was thinking. "Um… It's just water. Would you like something else instead?

Stranger's eyes burned into Britain for a moment. "_No._ And it doesn't smell like water. Did you poison it?"

Britain's green eyes grew. _Poison?_ "No, sir! I-its plain water! The smell is probably dish soap, I just washed it!"

Stranger's eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between Britain and the glass of water. He smirked slyly and handed the glass back to Britain. "Take a drink. Prove to me it's only water."

Britain gulped nervously as he took the glass and sipped from it._ Why would he think it's poisoned?_ Stranger watched him with curious eyes, until the glass was set back into his own hands. Britain sighed. "It isn't poisoned."

Stranger reluctantly looked into the glass again, and slowly began to drink it without any more complaints. When he finished, he looked at the scone, nose wrinkled. "What the _fuck_ is that?"

Britain clenched his jaw. _I nursed him back to health! The least he could do is keep his bloody mouth shut!_ Shakily he set the plate on Stranger's lap. "It's a scone. It's like a biscuit, but it's a cake. I'm sorry, but it's not sweetened."

"_Not_ sweet?" Stranger looked at it for a moment. His movements were less reluctant now that Britain had proven that he was not trying to poison him. He bit into the bread and let it settle in his mouth for a little bit. "It's _not _sweet…"

Britain waited for another insult to his cooking, head hanging. _I'm stupid for thinking _anyone _would like them…_ But the insult never came. He looked back up to see that Stranger was actually _enjoying _it! His heart fluttered a little bit.

"It's _not_ sweet!" Stranger exclaimed. "It is not like that shit _he_ makes…" He stopped talking and his expression suddenly turned concerned. "Is America back yet?"

Britain shook his head. "He was supposed to be back awhile ago. How do you know him?"

"We bumped into each other." Stranger said. "He saved my fuckin' life and sent me here."

_Like a hero…_ Britain thought. America was almost his own police force. "Do you know where he's at now?"

Stranger looked away, looking guilty, leaving Britain very worried. "I… I sent him to my house… He was supposed to give Arthur my jacket, tell him I was okay, and leave… he's supposed to be back by now!"

"Who's this 'Arthur'?" Britain asked. To be honest, the name sounded familiar.

Stranger nervously began to pick at his fingers. "H-he's my older brother. He looks a lot like you. I… I ran away from him b-because…"

"Why?" Britain tilted his head. The America-look-alike was looking very childish now, and he couldn't help but feel sudden security for him, despite the fact he was taller, and certainly stronger.

Stranger was silent for a moment as his eyes looked blankly ahead of him. "We never got along… He's cruel."

"How so?" Britain prompted the man.

There was a long pause. Stranger froze now, hesitating for a minute… two minutes… three minutes… "H-He… We have to help America."

Britain's heart beat rapidly. All the hesitation Stranger had in telling him… this Arthur person must be _very_ cruel. And America was with him. "May I get your name please?"

"My name's Alfred."

_Arthur and Alfred._ The pair of names was familiar… a deadly duo, and now they have been separated. Britain shivered as he realized he had let one of them walk right through the front door of his house. _But he was helpless. _Britain thought. _His wounds needed to be tended to immediately._ Alfred may have been part of a deadly group, but now he was showing worry for someone. America, _his_ America, was with the other half of the deadly pair, and perhaps with the more lethal half.

Britain checked Alfred's wounds one last time. The wholes in his chest were clean, and were already showing signs of healing, thanks to Britain's spell. Then he looked up at his face. "So, Alfred, are you willing to come with me and save him?"

** Woo! Found out how people do these things! x3**

** NO ARTHUR I DO NOT WANT A POISONOUS CUPCAKE I AM ALERGIC TO ARSENIC THANK YOU FOR OFFERING ANYWAY KAY THANKS BYE ._.**

** Russia, protect me! ;~; (^J^) Kololol!**

** Also, I apologize for out-of-character 2p!America**


	11. Chapter 11

America carried the electric screw driver, the saw, and the box of screws up the stairs. The room was blackened from the previous fire, and the floorboards creaked under his weight. He slowly began to pull them apart and replaced them with some wooden planks piled up along the wall, sawing off the edges so they fit like puzzle pieces. He slowly, but surly made his way up to the hole in the roof.

After making sure the wooden planks beneath him were secure, he began to rip apart the hole in the roof. The gap was big. He could easily walk through it if, of course, he wanted to fall onto the ground below and risk injury. He made sure to be careful as he tore the burnt wood away from the edges. He yelped as a splinter made its way into his finger. He rubbed at the cut and tried to squeeze the wooden shard out. It felt like it was two inches long, although it couldn't possibly be anymore than half an inch.

"Why can't he just have a construction worker come along and do this?" America muttered to himself, wishing he would have at least been smart enough to buy leather gloves.

Just then, America noticed the _other _pain. The sickening pain in his stomach that he had earlier. _The damn cupcakes…_ He clenched his stomach and tried to ease the pain, cursing between gritting teeth. Bile rose in his throat very teasingly. He wished he could spew it and get the sour taste out, but it just wouldn't get there. _A bad ingredient again? How could someone make such a mistake twice? Didn't he notice anything strange about it? Wouldn't he notice if the eggs were bad? They would have a bad scent, right?_

The pain inside him teasingly softened and then became even more painful than the last wave. He couldn't help but curl up on the floor and give out a loud cry.

"Is everything all right up there?" Arthur chirped from the first floor.

America's only response was a pained moan as the throbbing ache grew more and more intense. And it was only then when his ability to take more pain before becoming unconscious failed, and the world grew black.

** WOOT! Can't wait to see what happens next! ^-^**

** Arthur you big meanie! :U Why do I love you so much?**

** Sorry this chapter was so short! And the word counts in this fanfic is VERY unstable! I'll try to fix that in my future stories.**

** Also, this fic may have 1 or 2 more chapters left, just to give a heads up!**


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